


On his Throne

by Xobit



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:50:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xobit/pseuds/Xobit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron decides to end the war</p>
            </blockquote>





	On his Throne

**Author's Note:**

> Gift for the DA artist Murr-Miay
> 
> http://xobit.deviantart.com/art/On-his-throne-273972620

“You are weak, Prime,” the words were purred into his audio receptor, but they did not seem to address the fact that he had been captured. Megatron’s hands were drifting over his chassis, gently teasing a current to respond. A tread of charge that he knew he should not be feeling sitting in his nemesis lap. 

He was weak. After several orn in the Decepticon brig, with little to no energon and overactive self repair… anyone would be weak as a newly sparked. It also made his chassis reach for the offer of pleasure, responding so readily to touch. 

“So weak… I should have had you fueled better, a little bit of a fight is always nice, gets the energon flowing, hmm?” a rumbling laugh made his finial twitch, and no sooner had it moved than a moist glossa dragged up it. 

“But maybe this will be just as good, or maybe even better… if all you can do is cling while I take you? Cling to me, to my throne, as I make you mine. I too desire an end to this war, Prime, but I refuse to surrender to you, no, you must surrender to me! Spark, chassis and processor!” no, he did not want to be… Be what? A trophy? 

And he did not want to interface his nemesis… no matter what his chassis wanted! And it _wanted_. Megatron certainly knew how to play him, but was that really so surprising? If he thought about it he knew how to play the former gladiator too. They had fought for a long time, knew where a hit would truly hurt, what could disable the other. All of those things could be applied to love making too… 

“No…” his voice crackled with disuse and growing charge, horror tinting the tone at the very idea of giving himself up to Megatron. Not that he could do much about it, not in this weakened state.

“Yes, Prime, oh yes! How long have we fought each other, our race dwindling around us? Too long, ending it by ending you is no longer a desirable option… And I have desired you in other ways for so long, young Prime, the hope of the council. Beautiful and powerful, my equal,” blunt black fingers rubbed circles on his interface panel now, charge crackling in their wake. 

It clicked open as if he hungered for the touch, and he did… somewhere deep inside. The black fingers thrust in, the gentleness gone as he was stretched by two of them. It felt almost painful, almost. He was already moist, lubricant eager to meet the challenge the fingers posed, valve calipers spiraling down to keep them inside. But Megatron had other plans, the pace he set as rough as the first penetration, and it was only moments before a third and then a fought finger joined in. 

“No!” the protest was more against his own chassis reactions than against Megatron’s actions. 

But Megatron was the one answering it with a deep growling rumble that sounded like both amusement and lust. No verbal answer was given, but a click sounded, only slightly muted by their working cooling fans, and he felt the hard length of a spike as it pressurized against his back. 

A big spike.

He panicked and tried to get free, resulting in something more than weak wiggling and laughably unproductive pushes against the strong arms holding him in place. All he managed to do was to make Megatron growl lustfully and bite the back of his neck. Optimus whimpered, unaccustomed to the roughness and the lust it woke in him. 

It was not supposed to be like this! He was not supposed to react to Megatron like this, sobbing wet and hard as electrum! 

When had his spike even extended? Or begun weeping, the small beards of transfluid prickling his awareness as they slid down his hard shaft. It was surreal, wrong, right, wonderful, horrible… wrong, wrong, wrong!

“You are mine, Prime, and you will learn to love it,” another bite and then dark, heavy grunting when the fingers were pulled from his valve and he was lifted, manipulated and~

“ _Primus_!” the invocation was choked, strangled in static and the pained moan. He had just let go? Oh, oh he was big… much bigger than he should be and… 

Bumps and ridges lined the spike in him, and the dark chuckle in his audio receptor told him that Megatron had been anticipating the shocked reaction. 

“Do you like it, Prime? Warbuilds like me, we like to be able to impress, mmm you are tight, had this done back when I was a gladiator. My lovers always appreciated the unique ‘ride’ I gave them,” he could not answer, only gasp for cool air and whimper when the Decepticon leader started to move him. The textures of the spike driving his internal and external valve nodes insane with charge. It felt like nibbles, pinches, like calipers were rolling against his own calipers, working against them, or with them. 

“You do like it, just you wait till you try sucking on it, Prime, that is an experience,” laughter, rough with static and underlying growl, “I’ve tried it with other gladiators, you can get off pleasuring a spike like mine with your mouth… But I might just help you, do you like toys, Prime?” he shook his helmet, or rather his head flopped back and forth ungainly as he tried to find enough sanity to answer. He did not succeed, every push and pull of that impossible spike in his valve sending his charge higher. Choking his higher functions into stasis until all that was left was sensation and need. 

“Ahh!” arching against Megatron he fell, overload burning though his circuitry, his lines, making his valve calipers clamp down so hard he felt he would forever have the imprint of Megatron’s spikes textures in the soft walls. 

He did not see how transfluid shot from his own spike in a graceful arch, to splatter on the dark purple floor plates before the throne. 

Optimus saw nothing at all, his weakened chassis shutting down completely in the wake of the energy gobbling overload.

* * *

Optimus woke to the scent of rich energon, the taste of it on his glossa and he drank eagerly. It was taken away far too soon and he only barely bit back a whimper. 

“Shh, Prime, your tanks won’t be able to handle much right now… slow is better,” there was dark amusement in the tone and when he onlined his optics he met Megatron’s red ones. He stiffened and had to bite his derma, his exposed dermas!, to keep back a yelp of pain. Sore! When had he last felt this particular kind of soreness? 

A laugh and then a warm hand landed on his cod piece, kneading gently. 

“Sore, are we? Don’t worry, Prime, you will get used to it. As my consort, or possibly my co-ruler, I can tell you that you will be well satisfied,” the rumble was one of desire, as well as remembered pleasure, “And I have been told that it takes dedication to spark someone up, I will have to make sure I am among the first to do so with my consort, no? It would not do to have Starscream claim me infertile or deficient in some way!”

Optimus could not belive what he was hearing!

“I’m not going to bare you sparklings! You raped me on your throne… you…” he was at a loss for words, sore and hungry. Confused and even scared. 

“But you will, Prime, in time you will… Think about it, there are barely a million mechs left online, on both sides of the war. You cannot afford to throw away this peace offering, nor the offer to breed with me… where else would you find someone capable of keeping up with you? I know what the Matrix will demand of you when peace had settled in. And I know that you were never a spike mech, Orion,” his vents hitched at the name he had left behind so long ago. The way it was said, darkly promising… anticipatory. 

And truth. The truth, from Megatron, about the sorry state of their race, their world… 

“I am not going to be your slave!” it was the last objection, the one thing he could not ever see himself bow down to. The one thing he had fought against all along. 

“The strong rule the weak, Orion, but no one ever said the weak was to be slaves,” the humor was evident as Megatron leaned down over him to nuzzle his too naked face plates. Kiss him, gently at first and then demanding before drawing back… and Optimus found himself, embarrassingly, trying to follow the thin dermas for more. It earned him another dark laugh. 

“Drink up, Orion, and I will make sure you get more of me,” the cube was pressed to his dermas before he could manage to protest, and that was only good. Optimus, Orion…, was not sure he could have protested in any way that would have sounded sincere.


End file.
